“You listening to me, asshole? Fuck, sometimes I don’t even know why I bother with your stupid ass,” Hoss barks down the line.
“Shit,” I mumble. “Yeah, I'm here. What'd you say?”
“I said your girl is at Hounds, and she doesn't look good,” Hoss repeats with no small amount of frustration lacing his tone.
That wakes me the hell up faster than a bucket of cold water on a frigid winter night.
“Say fucking what now?”
“Fuck me, do you ever pull your head out your ass long enough to hear anything but the sound of your own colon? I said, Emmy is at Hounds and, She. Is. Not. Good.” Hoss repeats slowly, sounding as if he's swallowed a box of nails.
“Not good how?” I rasp already pulling my jeans on.
“Not good in almost every way a woman can be not good, brother. I've been keeping an eye on her for the last five, but her man just walked in, and I've got a feeling shit's about to get even more fucked up than it already is. So with that in mind, I'd say you've got ten before I have to step in and stop him from dragging her out of here, to do fuck knows what to her. A-fucking-gain!” He ends on a shout.
Sucking in a painful breath through my nose, I locate my boots, T-shirt, socks, and belt asking,
“This situation need more than you and me to handle it?”
A deep chuckle echoes down the line, easing some of my fear that this shit was about to go completely sideways
and end in a hail of bullets and blood.
“We're talking about Scott and his little bitch sidekick, not the fucking mafia or a rival MC, brother. And even if the odds were ten to one, I'd still put my money on you, you crazy motherfucker.”
I thread my belt through the loops of my jeans and grunt because he's not wrong.
Years ago there was a bullshit story that went around about how I got my road name, and it stuck. Granted, I did nothing to discourage it. Shit, when I was three sheets to the wind I probably even retold it a time or two just to earn a laugh from the idiots stupid enough to believe it. It went a little something like this…
There are a few hard and fast rules when you’re a military man. One of them being, that every time you come in contact with a superior officer, like say, a sergeant you stand to attention and salute him. Unlike a lot of the other guys at the time, didn’t have any time in the service under my belt, I figured I’d have to work with what I had. So since my dick had the uncanny ability of standing to attention on command, I crowned myself Sarge due to the number of times in a day I could salute myself. Or so the story went.
Truthfully, though, my road name was borne from my drill sergeant like behavior when I was patched in as the Soldiers of Havoc’s SAA. My word was law. The men I commanded didn’t question me, and not one man who had the extreme displeasure of coming into contact with me during one of my carefully executed interrogations has ever withstood more than a few minutes under my knife. Ever. I
expose their every weakness, destroy all sense of hope, and then strike once I've lulled them into a false sense of security. I'm not proud of it. The work I do isn't rewarding or fulfilling, but it is necessary.
Without me, the club would have been fucked over ten times, if not more by now. Informants traded all sorts of secrets about the MC to rival clubs or the cartels for cash, drugs, or markers. Where our arms drops will be, which routes our trucks and what they're carrying are taking, and which strip clubs are light on security each night is worth something to the men that would like nothing more than to see Vengeance bought low. My job? Make sure that doesn't happen and use any means necessary to ensure it.
Looking down at the two women on my bed, curling into each for warmth now I was gone, I say,
“I'm on my bike in two. Whatever you do, don't let that motherfucker leave. He and I are going to have a little conversation, that I have a strong suspicion isn’t going to end well for him.”
“What do you want me to do with, Em in the meantime?”
“Get whoever's working to take her into the back office and get her talking. I want to know the full extent of the situation she's facing with that asshole, and the only way to do that is to push her while she’s vulnerable. I know it’s a dick move, but it’s gotta be done,” I state, nudging blonde
number one with my boot.
“Not sure how well that's gonna work since the only people working tonight are Natalie and Maddox,” he mutters, referring to Vengeance's newest prospect and the hard-ass, feisty woman Hoss has been banging on the side. “Natalie's not exactly the warm and fuzzy type, man. And Mad is worse,” he adds needlessly. “You sure you want to trust your girl in this state of mind with one of them?”
“Don't have much of a choice now, do I? Be there in five,” I grate out, hanging up on him.
Giving the woman closest to me another nudge with my boot, I demand,
“Get up, then wake her. I want the both of you dressed and gone before my bike rolls out of the lot. You've got two minutes if that.”
The low moan she makes in the back of her throat probably would have turned me on an hour ago, but now, it just pisses me off.
“We can wait here ‘til you're finished with whatever you've got to do, Sarge. You know, keep your bed warm and all that.”
Through gritted teeth, I snarl,
“I said, get the fuck out.” Not bothering to see if she heeds my warning, I turn, walk out of my room, and slam the door behind me, hard enough to rattle the hinges and make my point clear.
*****
In all the years that had passed since Emily and I parted ways, I hadn't been on a call out like this. Or should I say, not one that directly involved her. At the beginning of Scott and Emily's marriage, there was more than a few isolated occurrences when I or one of the boys had been called in to help drag Scott’s ass home when he was three sheets to the wind, fall down, blind drunk. Nowadays those call outs are few and far between, which as fucked up as it sounds, is both good and bad for me.
The nights me and the boys dragged Scott home were the closest I got to Emily. They were the nights I got to step foot in her home without having to come up with some bullshit reason just to see her. It might make me a first rate asshole, but I lived for those fleeting moments with her, even if I didn't get to do all the things I wanted to do to her.
I would wait until my brothers left and Scott's drunk ass was passed out on the couch, and we'd talk. Just talk. Never long enough for me to ascertain if my Em was truly happy, but at the same time, long enough for me to reassure myself what we once felt for each other was still there. That the connection I felt to her the very first second I laid eyes on her was still alive and well. And that alone made it all worth it. To know that the woman I loved with every inch of my soul, my heart, my body, and my mind, still loved me back helped me get through some of the toughest years of my life, then and it would have to be enough later, too.
Reversing my bike into a park out the front of Hounds, I assumed this Scott call out would be no different than the
rest. Sure, in the back of my mind Hoss' words and what they meant still plagued me, but I had no reason to think anything of them until I take my first step inside.
Through the dim lighting of the bar and the cloud of smoke that hung heavy, clinging to the ceiling like a thick blanket of fog, I saw her. And what I saw makes my body turn to stone and my blood boil.
One side of Emily's classically beautiful face is a mixture of mottled blue and purple bruises, the other I can't since she's turned away from me talking to Hoss. But I've seen enough. It doesn't matter to me if it were only the barest of scratches, ones that would heal within hours, that would be plenty to send me on a rampage to kill the fucker that dared to lay hands on her. But this, this isn't that. This is more. This is a signed death warrant which will be executed by me, without mercy.
Approaching Hoss and Emily cautiously, I keep my distance as I overhear the gist of their conversation.
“I said I was fine. There was no ne
ed to call for reinforcements, and you know it. This isn't the first time he's done this, but it will sure as hell be the last.” Placing a comforting hand on Hoss' arm that has me seeing red, she softens her voice, confusing and angering me at the same time. “I know you're worried about Diesel and me, and I love that you care enough to be concerned about us, but I promise you, I have this under control.”
Shaking his head violently back and forth, no, Hoss grates out,
“No, that's where you're wrong, sweet thing. You think you've got it under control, until the next time it happens. What then, Em? What if it's worse and you can't get away? What then? Do you want me to show up at your place one day to find you unconscious or worse? Is that what it's gonna take to wake your ass up and make you smell the roses?”
“God!” Emily exclaims, raking her hands through her long blonde hair. “Of course not. That won't happen; I won't let it.”
“How can you be so sure, Em? You said that last time and the time before, and the fucking time before that, too.”
“I asked him to leave, that's how I know,” she imparts waspishly, obviously shocking the shit out of Hoss, and for that matter me as well.
Not once in the time they'd been married did I have the first inkling that not all was as it seemed in the Mathews household. For all outward appearances, Em, Scott, and Diesel were the perfect family unit. I'd go as far as to say, the benchmark for the rest of the boys in the club looking to tie themselves to an old lady and start a family. Hearing this, though, I'm left to ask myself, what and when did it go so wrong?
If this were just a simple matter of teaching an asshole who hit his woman a lesson, I wouldn't still be standing here eavesdropping on their conversation. I would have got an address where I could find the fucker, mounted my bike, and
paid him a visit he wouldn't soon forget. But it isn't, and I can't even begin to pretend it is. This is, Em. My Em. This is not a random woman sporting the marks of a man with no self-control or respect for the fairer sex. This is the woman who means more to me than my brothers, my club, my family, and my life. I would give up everything I have and everything I am to see that she was never harmed, and to a degree, I have. Not now, but years ago.
So instead of going off half-cocked and killing a full-patch brother, a man that has standing in our community, albeit only because of his wealthy asshole folks, I listen intently to a conversation I'm confident Hoss set up for that very reason.
Hoss is cunning like that. It's evident in his posture, the way his body is standing so close to Em, acting as a shield of sorts, that there's more to this story than I can begin to piece together, but he's giving me that in. That rare look into Em's life that I haven't been afforded for a fuck of a long time. And for that, I'm thankful beyond measure.
“You asked him to leave, and he did?” Hoss questions, narrowing his eyes at her suspiciously.
“Yes,” she replies resolutely, without hesitation. “I told him that I was going out, that I'd be gone for an indeterminate amount of time, and when I came home, I wanted him and his stuff gone. I also told him that whatever he left behind was fair game and that this winter I'd be toasty warm because I intend to use the crap he leaves in my house to start the biggest bonfire the state of Colorado has ever
seen.”
That last part garners a chuckle from Hoss, but it dies quickly when he goes on to ask,
“This is gonna raise questions, Em. Not just the state of your face, but why your old man is crashing at the clubhouse. And since you aren't all fired up to share all the ways in which he is the most undeserving, life-ruining bastard ever to walk the Earth, how's that play out in that pretty little head of yours? Add to that, the piece of shit already showed up here causing a scene. That’s not the actions of a man content to just walk away, babe.”
“I don't care what him showing up here looks like, Hoss,” Em snaps, slamming both of her hands onto her slim hips. “As far as I’m concerned, he can do whatever the fuck he wants as long as he’s not darkening my door or jaw anymore. Furthermore, my business is just that, mine. I'm not a kid anymore, Hoss. I'm a thirty-two-year-old woman with a teenage son. I have a job, a house to maintain, a driver's license, and funnily enough, I've had all of those things for longer than it's been since you realized vaginas weren't intended for single use only.”
I can't help it and neither can the rest of the bars' patrons within hearing distance of her; I burst out laughing, which has the unfortunate consequence of drawing attention to myself.
Whirling on the person who dared to laugh at her predicament, Emily comes up short when she sees me standing behind her and lets out a soft, yet horrified gasp.
“Oh my God. You, asshole,” Em says accusingly, stabbing one of her long, pale pink painted fingernails into Hoss' chest. “You knew he was standing there the whole time, didn't you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say the whole time,” he smirks unwisely. “Just the last five minutes or so.”
“You set me up,” she glares at him, but Em's not fooling anybody.
The slump of her shoulders and the downturn of her lips as they start to quiver tells me more than anything coming out of her gorgeous mouth. More than embarrassed that I found out her dirty little secret, she's humiliated. A feeling so powerful - one that radiates out from her very core, engulfing everything in its path - one that it almost brings me to my knees when with it comes the realization that Em never planned on me finding out. Ever if she could help it.
“How long?” Is all I can bring myself to ask.
My heart is beating a rapid tempo in my chest, yet at the same time, I find myself struggling to draw a full breath. When she doesn't answer me, I repeat my question, lowering my voice but leaning deep into her personal space.
“I said, how fucking long?”
I know Em understands the question, and so does Hoss. The thing is, Hoss is smart enough to see how close to the
razor's edge my temper is. Em, however, is not. Her back straightens into a taut line, her body strung tight as if she's contemplating her escape. Well, I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, I muse internally, you aren't going any-fucking-where until you answer my goddamn questions. Every. Single. Fucking. One.
Inhaling a sharp lungful of air through her nose, Em makes the mistake of testing the fragile thread of my control. I would never hurt her, not in any way a man could hurt a woman, but if she wants to play hardball, I'll be forced to shut her down.
“I fail to see how that's any of your business,” she retorts acidly.
It's a shame really. If only she knew just how adorable she is when she's riled up, maybe she wouldn't be so quick to anger. Because right now, watching her cute button nose crinkle, her eyes narrow into slits, and her hands fist on her hips, all I want to do is throw her over my shoulder, carry her out back, and make her come until she is reduced to moaning and whimpering my name.
Down boy, I chastise my cock silently as I adjust my now hard cock. Just the thought of picking Em up and dragging her into a dark, secluded corner has my dick standing to attention, the head already leaking pre-come into
my briefs.
“Well, let's see,” I sneer. “Since I was the first man to
taste you, to have my fingers buried deep inside your tight, wet pussy, and the first man to sink into your virgin cunt, I'd say everything about you is my business, Emmy?”
It's a strategic decision, one I could live to regret, but I can't restrain myself from, at least, trying to push her buttons to garner an honest reaction from her.
“Jesus,” Hoss hisses with a mixture of disgust and revulsion coloring his expression. “She's like my goddamn sister, man. I don't now, or ever, need confirmation as to her status as a woman. As far as I'm concerned, Em's asexual. That shit's just disgusting,” he finishes with a visible, yet somewhat comical shudder.
Scoffing at his put out expression, I shrug,
“No one asked you to hang around for this portion of the discus
sion, brother. Feel free to fuck off any time now.”
“Nah, I think I'll stick around,” he grins, perching his ass on the closest stool. “I've got a feeling shit's about to get interesting around here.”
Breaking into our banter, Em shouts,
“Seriously, can you hear each other? My life is not a goddamned joke. No one is discussing anything, least of all my sex life. And for the love of God, will you please stop talking about me like I'm not even in the room.”
“We could,” Hoss agrees, nodding his head like a lunatic. “But where’s the fun in that? I mean, you, Miss
Sarge: Book 8 in the Vengeance MC series Page 10